Alexander Hamilton and the Smuggler's Plot
by Lorenzo Mann
Summary: Historical fiction with Alexander Hamilton working to expose a smuggling plot that may involve his nemesis Thomas Jefferson.
1. Chapter 1

**Alexander Hamilton and the Smuggler's Plot**

 **By Lorenzo Mann**

 **Copyrighted 2018**

 **Preface**

This is a work of historical fiction set in colonial America, during the late 1700's. The story is loosely based and historical events but, it does not follow any historical timeline and should be regarded as complete fiction. The author has taken creative license with the characters, settings, and situations in the story and has created this work for entertainment purposes only.

 **Chapter 1**

 **1 - Hamilton on the Hunt**

On a sunny, New York City morning, Alexander Hamilton was following a busty, young, lass down the street. She was not particularly attractive but, was very fashionably dressed and carried many large shopping bags. To Hamilton's keen senses this young woman smelled of money, his favorite scent on any woman.

Hamilton followed at a discrete distance. When the lady reached her waiting carriage he made his move. He stopped on the sidewalk and bowed politely, "May I help you with your purchases, madam?"

The lady appeared hesitant, and Hamilton displayed his most dashing smile, "A gentleman could not pass a lady in your predicament without offering."

She returned a shy smile, "Thank you, sir."

Hamilton helped the lady into her carriage and then handed the shopping bags to her. All the while he made polite small talk about the beautiful day and her shopping spree. When he had finished, the lady said, "Thank you again, sir. May I offer you a ride to your destination this morning?"

Hamilton was pleased with this, but decline, "Thank you, no madam. On such a beautiful morning it is a short walk to the Bank of New York where I have business to attend."

"Very well, sir." She replied.

"Alexander Hamilton, attorney at law," he said and bowed again and allowed his wallet to fall from his pocket to the street. "Forgive my clumsiness, madam," he stammered while recovering it and then quite purposely revealed the large wad of Federal currency inside. The lady's eyes widened at the sight of the money; clearly impressed by the contents of Hamilton's wallet.

She would have been differently impressed had she known Hamilton's wallet was filled with strips of newspaper and only the outside of this wad showed actual money. It was a simple trick to impress women. Hamilton had learned this deft sleight of hand from his partner, Aaron Burr.

As it was, the innocent young lady was suitably impressed by the handsome, young attorney and on a whim, dared to invite him to her home for dinner. This was merely a proper thank you for his thoughtful assistance this morning. This was more of what Hamilton had in mind and after a brief show of reluctance, he gratefully accepted her kind offer.

Hamilton called over a nearby street urchin and scribbled a note on a scrap of paper. He passed the note to the boy along with a silver coin to ensure delivery. "For Mr. Burr," Hamilton instructed the boy who nodded eagerly. Aaron Burr had most of the cities orphans on his payroll. This army of spies in the streets watched, listened, and reported to Burr on everything. Burr payed the boys in cash, beer, or cigars depending on the value of the information they supplied.

Hamilton felt this was a dirty business, but information from Burr's brats had contributed greatly to their master's success. Long ago, Hamilton had decided to look the other way at this activity, since he could also benefit from it. He had worked too hard, for too long to let a miner moral dilemma slow his rising legal career.

Along with money and success, he was watchful for anything that might help him get under more skirts. His wife and children waiting at home posed another moral dilemma he ignored.

The note Hamilton handed the boy instructed Mr. Burr to inform Mrs. Hamilton that he would be out of the city for a brief time on important legal business. She should not expect him home this evening.

Hamilton joined the lady, "Cynthia" in her fancy and clearly expensive carriage. He was overwhelmed by the intoxicating aroma of money behind this lady's lavish life style. They would spend the day getting acquainted. This evening she would make his dinner and he would have her for dessert. Delicious!

She ordered her driver to pull away and Hamilton smiled, already thinking of the story he would have for Burr at the office tomorrow. Burr would want to know if she had a wealthy friend, sister, mother or…grandmother. Disgusting, but nothing was beneath Burr. In this conquest, Burr would be disappointed since Hamilton would not share anything – except the lurid story.

The carriage wheels slowly began to rattle over the cobblestone street when a boy's voice called, "Hello, Mr. Hamilton! Mr. Hamilton, wait!" Hamilton silently cursed his luck, what could this brat want now?

He smiled at Cynthia as she called to her driver to stop. The boy ran up alongside the carriage and reached a filthy hand in a ragged sleeve through the window to hand a note to Hamilton. Yes, it was one of Burr's brats.

Scribbled on the paper in Burr's handwriting were the words; " _Stop whatever you are doing and return to the office at once_."

Hamilton seethed and hid a scowl. He then quickly smiled and said to Cynthia, "I am sorry dear lady, but I am afraid important business must take me away from your delightful company."

Cynthia made a pouting look, but then flashed a becoming smile, "I understand Mr. Hamilton, perhaps another day." She handed him a slip of paper with her address and Hamilton thanked her. She would wait for another day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – Mr. Burr's Summons**

An extremely irritated Alexander Hamilton burst into the law office of Aaron Burr and thundered at his partner, "You had better have a good reason for this summons. Your message cost me the company of a fine lady and a fine meal."

Burr leaned back in his squeaky desk chair and placed his feet on top of the large cluttered desk. He laughed evilly around the foul-smelling cigar clench between his teeth. "Alex, you must learn to control your passions, they will be the death of you."

Hamilton scowled at his partner.

"You must also learn to think bigger than the treasure to be found under a skirt. Sit down and have a cigar."

Hamilton flopped down into an overstuffed corner chair and sulked, "Keep your nasty cigars," he said, "I hope you summoned me here for a better reason than that."

Burr laughed again, "Indeed I have," he said with his devilish smile firmly in place. Then his feet dropped to the floor and Burr leaned forward. In a hushed tone he said, "I have come into possession of a piece of information that I believe will interest you."

Hamilton waited impatiently, but he knew that Burr was enjoying the suspense and would talk when he was ready.

After a suitable pause Burr continued, "I have recently learned from a confidential, but highly reliable source, that your nemesis, the Honorable Mr. Jefferson will soon be smuggling some cargo through New York harbor, very soon." Burr paused for effect, "Perhaps you would like to look into this rumor and verify the legalities of Gentleman Tom's enterprise."

Hamilton detested Thomas Jefferson, the fraud gentleman farmer of Monticello. He leapt to his feet at this news, "The despicable rat!" Hamilton exclaimed loudly.

Burr fell back his chair again and cackled loudly in amusement at Hamilton's dramatic reaction.

Hamilton's sullen mood was forgotten. Now, he paced restlessly around the office. His mind raced as he considered this development. Suddenly he turned to Burr, "How do you propose we stop him?"

Burr stopped laughing and looked at his friend in wide eyed surprise, "Stop him? Perish the thought Alexander. I am much more interested in discovering how we may profit from the knowledge Mr. Jefferson's secret."

Hamilton resumed pacing, "We could publicly humiliate him," he thought aloud.

Burr chuckled evilly. He almost admired Hamilton's righteous passion, but this seething dislike of Jefferson limited the scale of his friend's vision, "You're not thinking clearly Alex. Find out what is going on here, and you can do much worse to Mr. Jefferson. Fill your pockets with Jefferson's gold and you will hurt him where he feels it."

Hearing this, Hamilton stopped and stared intently at Burr. Slowly, Hamilton's demeanor began to change, and a sinister smile slowly crept across this face.

A few minutes later Hamilton, with the zealous air of a man on a mission, left Burr's office. He strode purposefully through the streets of New York, headed directly toward the Blue Ball Tavern. The filthy establishment was beneath Hamilton's standards for a watering hole. But, it was the local hangout for Jefferson's hired thugs, henchmen and related cronies. In the dark recesses of the Blue Ball they drank, plotted, and conspired among themselves to carry out Jefferson's wishes.

Hamilton soon arrived and threw open the heavy wooden door. The dark, smelly, tavern nearly overpowered his refined senses. He stepped inside and was immediately assaulted by a clownishly painted woman. The drunken harlot, who reeked of beer, grabbed Hamilton by his jacket lapels. "Buy me a drink and kiss me Mr. President," she breathed foully into his face.

Hamilton firmly shoved her away, "Unhand me wrench!"

The woman clumsily fell to the floor and shrieked loudly as she rolled wildly about with her skirt over her head. The crowd of bar patrons roared with laughter at the spectacle. Hamilton ignored them and pushed his way through the crowd to reach the bar.

He ordered a beer, then turned to face the room. Absently, he gingerly sipped the mug of foul tasting swill as he surveyed the room full of Jeffersonian filth.

In a darkened corner he spotted a rat-like man named Scabby sitting alone. Hamilton worked his way around the room and without invitation, joined Scabby at his table. At Hamilton's sudden appearance Scabby's beady eyes darted quickly in alarm and fixed on the door. He was ready to bolt for the exit, but hesitated.

From beneath the table, Hamilton pulled a pistol from his coat pocket and jammed the weapon into Scabby's ribs. "Tell me what the Honorable Mr. Jefferson is planning to smuggle through here," Hamilton growled.

Scabby looked terrified, but quickly talked. Jefferson's cargo was being shipped from France and would arrive soon aboard the French ship LaPooffe. Scabby's role was to have a work crew ready to unload the cargo when the ship docked. Scabby knew nothing more, only Jefferson knew the details of what was being shipped.

Hamilton despised this cowardly man, but he also believed him. He pulled the gun from Scabby's side and returned it to his pocket. "Well done, Scabby," he said and tossed several coins on the table, "Now you may finish my glass of this putrid swill and have another on me."

Standing again on the street outside the Blue Ball, the bright sunlight caused Hamilton to pause and squint. He could still smell the foul odor of the tavern on his coat. The disgusting stench of the Jeffersonians. He removed the jacket so people passing on the street would not think he was part of that filthy gang of degenerates. Burr had a man who could clean the coat. Hamilton would stop by the office to drop of his soiled garment. Next, he would go like Daniel into the lion's den.

Since it seemed only Jefferson knew the details of his shipment, Hamilton would pay a visit to the despicable man himself. Somehow, Hamilton would find a way to stop him, but it would not be easy. Jefferson was a brilliant schemer and few people suspected the man's true nature.

Hamilton gritted his teeth and purposely strode back down the crowded city street.


	3. Chapter 3

Alexander Hamilton and the Smuggler's Plot – Chapter 3

 **3 – A Visit with Jefferson**

Aristocrat gentleman Thomas Jefferson was at his home, comfortably ensconced in the lavish plantation mansion known as Monticello. Today the great man stiffly posed in the afternoon sunlight in one of his favorite drawing rooms. Nearby, his favorite French artist meticulously dabbed his brush at an canvas portrait of Jefferson. From a side door, one of the house servants silently appeared. The elderly black man paused and slowly shuffled across the massive room to where Jefferson sat near the fireplace.

Jefferson's eyes widened, but his face remained neutral as the slave approached, "Yes, what is it?" he demanded impatiently while stiffly maintaining his pose for Pierre.

"Master Jefferson, there is a Mr. Alexander Hamilton here to see you, sir."

Jefferson nearly flinched from the rush of bile that suddenly filled his mouth at the mention of Hamilton. But, he maintained his composure and swallowed bitterly never wavering in his pose for the painter. "Can't you see I'm busy!" he finally barked angrily at the black man.

The slave bowed his head, "Of course sir. I tell him to come back another day."

Without warning Jefferson broke his pose and abruptly leapt to his feet, "Now you've done it," he raged at the slave, "my mood is ruined."

The painter put down his brush and the old slave fearfully backed away toward the door, "I am sorry, so sorry sir," the man babbled. Jefferson lounged forward, grabbed the man by the lapels of his servant's jacket and roared, "You will be sorry – you, you - whatever your name is!" Jefferson quivered with rage before the terrified servant, then suddenly released the man who collapsed in a heap on the marbled floor.

The old slave rose to his knees with his hands clasped prayerfully upward to Jefferson, "Please don't send me back to the fields," he begged, "please don't!"

Jefferson ignored the man's pleas and turned his attention to his painter. With no trace of anger, he tenderly clasped the artist's hand and said gently, "I am so sorry Pierre but, as you can see, I must attend to other business. We will have to finish this masterpiece another day."

The Frenchman nodded, "Of course, monsieur. I am forever at your service."

Jefferson turned and the left the room, without regard to the terrified sobs of the servant on the floor.

Thomas Jefferson sat in a dignified pose behind his great desk when a house maid escorted Alexander Hamilton into the lavishly appointed office. Jefferson smiled pleasantly. He was not pleased to see Hamilton. "I am pleased to see you, Mr. Hamilton," he said.

Hamilton bowed slightly, "Thank you for seeing me," he said graciously. "Your home is truly magnificent. I am honored to be here.

Jefferson ignored the compliment and came around the desk to shake hands. He then led them both to chairs before the fireplace. As they sat, a servant appeared holding an elegant silver tray with two glasses of wine. Jefferson waved the man away and turned to Hamilton, "I hate to be short Alexander, but I am dreadfully busy today. How may I be of service to you?" he asked.

Hamilton nodded quickly, "I understand," he said and continued, "Word has reached me that you may be bringing some French cargo through the port of New York soon." Hamilton paused and waited for a reaction from Jefferson. There was none.

"And…" Jefferson prompted impatiently.

Hamilton continued, "Very well. If I understand correctly, the cargo may face some legal difficulties with the harbor authorities. I wish to offer my assistance in avoiding any legal entanglements that may impede you receiving your cargo."

Jefferson appeared frozen in place and stared silently at Hamilton. Jefferson suddenly blinked several times, then spoke very rapidly, "I have no idea what you mean Alexander. However; I will have my shipping agent contact you at your usual place of business. Possibly next week?"

Before Hamilton could answer Jefferson leapt to his feet and called a servant, "Show Mr. Hamilton to the door; he must take his leave."

Hamilton stood slightly confused, he had not expected to this. Before Hamilton could object, Jefferson quickly shook his hand, "Thank you for stopping by Alexander, I apologize for being so busy. Good day."

As soon as Hamilton was gone, Jefferson dashed to his large desk and grabbed a wooden handled bell. He shook the bell furiously and at the sound a servant quickly appeared. Jefferson snarled loudly, "Send for Mr. Rogue, I want to see him now!" The slave bowed and quickly backed from the room.

Jefferson furiously pounded his fists on the desktop, "No! No! No!" he screamed at the empty room, "This could ruin everything!"

His outburst ended when an evil looking man dressed in black appeared at the door. "You wanted to see me, sir?" the man asked in a low and gravelly voice.

"Yes, Rogue, get in here." Jefferson commanded harshly. Mr. Rogue entered and stood before Jefferson's desk.

Jefferson leaned across the desk and seethed, "Alexander Hamilton just left here, I want you to kill him."

Mr. Rogue nodded. As a hired thug this was part of his usual line of work, "Yes sir, any particular time or place?" he asked casually.

Jefferson appeared shocked by the question. Then his face contorted in rage, "Now!" he bellowed, "As soon as possible, before he reaches the main road," Jefferson's voice had risen to a scream, "the sooner the better!"

Mr. Rogue was unmoved by the outburst, he nodded again, "I'll take care of it," he said and left the room.

Jefferson collapsed into his desk chair and laughed manically. Soon that arrogant, meddling, twit, Hamilton would be dead and the LaPoofe's precious cargo would be safe again. Jefferson smiled broadly, he hated Hamilton.

Suddenly his smile changed to burning fury and he wildly rang the desk bell, "Bring me that whining servant who spoiled my portrait sitting!" he thundered.


	4. Chapter 4

**4 – An Assassin Strikes**

The slaves from Jefferson's stables had Hamilton's horse freshened, ready to travel, and waiting in front of the mansion. Hamilton quickly mounted and rode away, very much aware of Jefferson's slight in not personally seeing him to the door. His mind raced as the horse trotted away from the opulent mansion house with its flawlessly manicured grounds. Jefferson's rush to have him gone, confirmed Hamilton's suspicion that the smuggling rumor was likely true. Clearly, Jefferson wanted Hamilton kept away from something.

As the horse trotted down the main road away from Monticello, Hamilton pondered what his next move should be. He needed more information. Perhaps Scabby could be persuaded to remember some additional details. It was a long shot since Scabby had probably disappeared after their last meeting at the Blue Ball.

Hamilton's thoughts wandered into the future as he rode on. Suddenly his musings were interrupted when the sharp crack of a musket shot split the air. The frightened horse jumped, and Hamilton instinctively tightened the reins to control the animal. Just then his arm felt a sharp tug as a musket ball aimed for his chest tore through his coat sleeve.

"Hellooo," he said angrily as he examined the new hole that appeared midway between his right elbow and shoulder. A clean miss, he was not hit. Then his soldier's instinct took over and Hamilton wheeled the horse to the left, then back to the right to present a more difficult target for the hidden shooter. His eyes darted quickly across the fields on both sides of the road, to find where the shot originated. A distant pile of rocks in the field to the left of the road was the perfect location for a sniper.

A second shot rang out and a faint whip of smoke arose from behind the rock pile. Hamilton instantly drew his sword from the saddle scabbard and yelled, "Tally ho!"

He lunged forward in the saddle and spurred his horse onward. The great animal left the road and leapt the split rail fence that lined the field. Hamilton's mount landed at a full gallop and raced across the barren, rocky field. Hamilton learned low in the saddle and swung his sword in a broad circle above his head to signal the charge. His blood surged as the horse raced forward and he laughed out loud as he closed on the rock pile.

In the distance, a man suddenly dashed from the rocky hideaway and ran toward a thick grove of trees beyond.

"The game has been flushed," Hamilton shouted with great excitement. He reined his horse to pursue the running man and spurred the animal to a faster gallop.

The distance quickly closed between Hamilton and the darkly dressed man. When it was clear the man would not reach the trees, he suddenly turned and fired a wildly aimed pistol shot in Hamilton's direction. The hero of Yorktown was unafraid and raced on toward this would-be assassin. The man turned to flee but, Hamilton ran him down. The shooter fell beneath the horse's thundering hooves and the man screamed in pain. 

Hamilton was pleased by the sound of painful moans as he slowed the house and turned back upon his foe. The horse huffed and breathed heavily as Hamilton slowly rode to where the man lay on the ground. Hamilton dismounted with sword in hand to confront the shooter.

The fallen man was dazed, but as Hamilton approached the downed man bellowed, "You bastard! You've broken my leg." Indeed, the man's right leg was twisted out at an unnatural angle. It was a severe break and Hamilton playfully nudged the leg with the toe of his boot. The man screamed painfully.

"Yes, I believe you are right," Hamilton said with a satisfied tone, "a small matter considering that you attempted to kill me." He knelt for a better look at the injured man but, did not recognize him. "I see you are a coward," Hamilton said, "and what else, a highwayman or an assassin?"

The man gave Hamilton an evil stare but, remained silent.

Hamilton reached out and prodded the twisted leg with his sword and man hissed painfully. Hamilton chuckled, "You will talk, my friend. It is simply a matter of time." He stood and returned his sword to the saddle. As he turned back, a knife flew past his face and the silver dagger lodged in the saddle.

Instantly, Hamilton pulled a pistol from his belt and shot the fallen man through the heart.

He knelt beside the body and quietly said, "Damn. Look what you've made me do." His reflexes had ended any chance of getting information from his assailant.

Hamilton carefully searched the dead man's pockets for some clue to his identity. He found nothing useful. In the nearby woods where the man had attempted to flee, Hamilton found a saddled horse tied to a tree. He freed the animal and led it from the wooded grove, "I doubt you will have further use for this," he said to the dead man. The horse was not branded, and the saddle provided no clues about its owner. He tied the horse to his saddle and surveyed the scene, there was nothing more to be done.

Hamilton mounted and slowly rode back toward the road and left the body lying in the field for Jefferson to find. He was certain the man was not a thief. He was too well dressed, and his horse was finely outfitted. Hamilton concluded the dark man was an assassin, one of Jefferson's hired thugs. Of course, there was no proof to connect the assassin to Jefferson. But, this incident confirmed that Jefferson did not want Hamilton investigating any secret cargo aboard the LaPoofe.

Hamilton had planned to return to New York and consult Burr about Jefferson's odd behavior. Now, he changed his mind. Instead, he would pay a visit to his old friend from the war Lafayette. Perhaps the Frenchman had some connections that might help to shed some light on this mystery.

Meanwhile, he could sell this extra horse and buy a new coat, and possibly some lovely companionship for a candlelit dinner.


	5. Chapter 5

Alexander Hamilton and the Smuggler's Plot

 **5 – A Surprise Guest**

Hamilton rode hard for several days and arrived wet, cold, and tired at Lafayette's door. The old housekeeper, Mrs. Carrington, invited him inside and informed Hamilton that Lafayette had departed for New York, two days ago.

Hamilton's head sank at the news. The French ship rumored to contain Thomas Jefferson's smuggled cargo was just days away from docking in New York. Hamilton was no closer to learning about the ship's secret cargo than when he began this journey. "Damnable luck," he muttered bitterly. Then, remembering the lady he quickly added, "Please forgive my unchristian language, good woman."

"You are forgiven, General Hamilton," the old woman replied graciously.

Hamilton smiled, "Thank you, madam. Now, I must take my leave."

"Oh no," the housekeeper protested, "You must stay for a hot meal and good night's rest. You look nearly exhausted, sir." Hamilton was anxious to be on his way but, knew that she was right. He reluctantly accepted her invitation.

The old housekeeper led him into the spacious house and upstairs to the guest bedroom. She laid out dry clothes for him and after Hamilton had changed, Mrs. Carrington called him downstairs to the dining room. She had prepared a wonderful meal of mutton and roasted potatoes. Following the delicious dinner, she poured him a glass of fine wine from Lafayette's private cellar. Hamilton slowly sipped the excellent wine and listened patiently has Mrs. Carrington talked of her life, the passing of her late husband, and how she had come into the employ of the Marquis de Lafayette. Finally, warm, dry, and contented, Hamilton became drowsy. He thanked Mrs. Carrington again for her hospitality and retired to the guest bedroom where he collapsed in fitful sleep.

Sometime in the night Hamilton awoke to a loud pounding on the front door of the house. He listened carefully. Downstairs was the muffled sounds of Mrs. Carrington shuffling to the front door. The door opened, and a man spoke harsh words that Hamilton could not understand. A few seconds later Mrs. Carrington's angry voice ordered someone from the house. This was followed by the rough sounds of furniture overturning and dishes breaking.

Hamilton bolted from bed, pulled on his pants and boots. He buckled his scabbard around his waist and drew the sword. Mrs. Carrington's angry voice echoed up the stairs as he quietly descended.

In the large dining room, the glow of the flickering fireplace revealed a tense scene. A large bearded man had backed Mrs. Carrington into a corner. The man reached to grab the old woman. She slapped the hulking man across the face and shouted, "Get out of this house. You are not welcome here!"

The bearded man laughed evilly and advanced on the old woman. In gravelly voice he said, "Where I come from we don't take orders from women."

Suddenly the intruder froze as he felt the cold steel of Hamilton's blade press across his throat, "In that case, I will repeat the lady's order," Hamilton said, "get out of this house."

The larger man turned slowly and faced Hamilton. Mrs. Carrington quickly scampered from the corner to relative safety behind Hamilton.

The large man's eyes narrowed and smiled angrily, "You are quite impressive when holding your blade to the throat of an unarmed man."

Hamilton considered these words then nodded quickly in agreement. In one fluid movement returned his sword to its scabbard, removed it from his waist and extended it to Mrs. Carrington, "If you would be so kind, madam." Mrs. Carrington was clearly confused but, slowly reached out and accepted the weapon.

Hamilton's hands were now empty and turned quickly back to the larger man. Hamilton swung a fist at the bearded intruder and his punch smashed the oaf squarely in the face. The large man grunted loudly and stumbled backward over a chair. Hamilton closed in quickly to hit the man again but, his opponent refused to go down.

The oafish man tried to fight back but, his punches were too slow to land a blow on Hamilton. He changed tactics and lumbered forward to grab Hamilton in a bear hug. Hamilton easily avoided the clumsy move and danced away from the slower man. It was time to end this contest quickly without further damage to the house or its furnishings.

"Mrs. Carrington," Hamilton called out, "If you would be so good as to get the door."

The old woman scurried to the front door and swung it open. Hamilton moved in and landed three solid body punches on bearded man who doubled over clasping his belly. Hamilton grabbed the back of the man's coat and dragged him to the open door. From behind, Hamilton use a boot on the backside and shoved the man out into the night. Mrs. Carrington slammed the door closed and securely bolted it.

Hamilton was breathing heavily, but smiled and said, "Shall we say good riddance to bad rubbish, Mrs. Carrington?"

The old woman smiled gleefully and clapped her hands, "Indeed sir, indeed!"

Before Hamilton could inquire further about the intruder, there was a sharp pounding on the front door. The door rattled as someone tried to force it open, but the bolt held securely.

Hamilton scowled and stepped back, "Ready yourself, Mrs. Carrington. We are about to have at it again."

Mrs. Carrington turned and hurried off to the kitchen. She returned with a large iron cooking skillet which she held up as a weapon. Hamilton smiled at her and nodded. The sharp pounding the door became louder and more insistent. Hamilton took another deep breath and in one fluid movement, he slid back the bolt and opened the door, his fist ready to strike. But, he held the punch.

A man stood in the shadows just outside the door. He said harshly, "Hamilton, I might have known. What the devil is on with you, thrashing my driver and tossing him out into the street?"

Then he stepped into the light. The man was Thomas Jefferson.


	6. Chapter 6

Alexander Hamilton and the Smuggler's Plot

 **6 – The Road to New York**

Jefferson was indignant as he stepped through the door, his face was stern. "Explain yourself," he demanded of Hamilton, "You dared to assault my personal representative and threw him out of this house!"

Hamilton was in no mood to be badgered by Jefferson and answered as sternly, "Your "representative" assaulted the mistress of this house when she asked him to leave."

Jefferson's gaze shifted to the elderly Mrs. Carrington who still held the iron skillet and his eyes widened in shock. Jefferson's eyes suddenly narrowed, and his face hardened. He looked back out of the open door and harshly shouted into the night, "Mr. Brute, get over here!"

A few seconds later, the large bearded man that Hamilton had confronted earlier appeared in the light of the door.

Jefferson sternly addressed Mr. Brute, "Did you assault this woman when she asked you to leave this house?" Jefferson nodded toward Mrs. Carrington.

Mr. Brute's darted from Jefferson to Mrs. Carrington and back. Brute seemed confused by the question but, finally stammered, "But you told me I should find the Frenchman…"

Before the man could finish, Jefferson produced a leather riding crop from beneath the cloak he wore and began savagely striking Mr. Brute, "Don't sass me you stupid, insensitive, oaf!" Jefferson roared.

Mr. Brute made no attempt to defend himself. He merely hung his head, giving every appearance of a broken man.

Jefferson paused in his assault on the larger man and roared, "Now, answer me!"

The broken Mr. Brute stared at the ground and mumbled, "Yes sir, I did."

Jefferson looked from Mrs. Carrington to Hamilton, and his eyes widened further, "I'm astonished," he said breathlessly.

Mrs. Carrington lowered her skillet and pulled her shawl over her shoulders but, said nothing.

Jefferson reverently bowed to Mrs. Carrington, "My apologies to you madam, and to you as well, Mr. Hamilton," he said.

Hamilton scowled at this false humility. This same Jefferson had likely sent the assassin who had attempted to murder him a few days before. Hamilton lacked any proof regarding the assassin but, was not letting Jefferson escape this incident with a simple apology. He said, "Jefferson, you should know that Mrs. Carrington has suffered damage to the house, because of your man."

Jefferson instantly pulled a leather wallet from beneath his cloak. He bowed slightly and pulled a thick wad of currency from the wallet. He extended the money to Mrs. Carrington, "My apologies again, good woman. Please accept this compensation with my deepest regrets for bringing this unpleasantness to your home."

Mrs. Carrington was unsure if she should accept the money and glanced at Hamilton, who nodded slightly. She slowly took the bills and stuffed them in into an apron pocket, "Thank you, sir."

Abruptly, Jefferson wheeled on the hapless Mr. Brute, "I own a dozen servants who would gladly cut your throat while you slept, if it meant they could be my driver," Jefferson growled, "When we get home I just may let them do it."

Mr. Brute's head seemed to hang even lower. He said nothing in his own defense.

"Don't just stand there, you idiot," Jefferson snarled, "see to the horses and I will deal with you later."

The next day found Hamilton and Jefferson together in a carriage being driven by the hapless Mr. Brute They jostled along rough country roads heading toward the still distant New York City. Before leaving Mrs. Carrington and the comforts of Lafayette's home, Jefferson had sent a dispatch rider racing ahead. The messenger's mission was to locate Marquis de Lafayette and to inform him that Jefferson and Hamilton would be arriving and desired a meeting as quickly as possible.

The long journey kept Jefferson and Hamilton in uncomfortably close quarters inside Jefferson's lavish carriage. Hamilton decided to break the uneasy silence and told his companion about his deadly encounter with the assassin near Monticello.

"You can't be serious Alexander, an assassin?" Jefferson sneered in derisive laughter. Jefferson was glad that Mr. Rogue was already dead. Otherwise, that incompetent fool would have to be killed too.

Jefferson said, "It was more likely a highwayman looking to rob me or possibly another man of substance. I suspect you simply got in the way."

Hamilton refused to be baited and ignored the insult. He still believed the gunman was one of Jefferson's hired thugs. But, Jefferson was a skilled liar and would never confess. Rather than press the issue, Hamilton said, "Possibly. But this "highwayman" provided some valuable information before passing on to meet his maker."

Jefferson continued to appear disinterested. He asked "Indeed, valuable information? What did you and this villain discuss?"

"I will not go into details," Hamilton replied, "but, I hope the information may prove valuable one day."

Jefferson dismissed this saying, "I fear you flatter yourself, Alexander. When this matter is concluded you will feel quite foolish. My shipping agent in New York will soon put an end to your rumors of smugglers and secret cargos."

"We shall see," Hamilton replied.

Jefferson did not reply but, gazed absently out the carriage window at the passing countryside. His face hardened as he listened to the clopping of the horse's hooves and the clatter of the carriage wheels. The noise along with Hamilton's company irritated him. He pulled his cloak tighter around him. "I hate New York," he muttered quietly to himself.

"Sorry, I didn't quite get that," Hamilton said, "What did you say?"

Jefferson started as if from a daydream. This fool was wearing on his nerves. "I said it was late when we set forth," he replied.

"I expect we should arrive in plenty of time to meet Lafayette, and the French ship when she docks," Hamilton replied.

Jefferson said nothing, and his expression made no attempt to hide his disdain for Hamilton.

Suddenly the carriage bounced roughly over several pot holes in the road. Jefferson sprung up from his seat and stuck his head out the carriage door, "If you hit anymore of those holes before New York, I will cut your throat myself!" he raged at Mr. Brute.


	7. Chapter 7

Alexander Hamilton and the Smuggler's Plot

 **7 – Marquis de Lafayette**

Thomas Jefferson's personal carriage gently rocked over of the cobblestone road approaching New York City. Inside the carriage, Jefferson silently stared at Alexander Hamilton who dozed in the seat across from him. Jefferson suddenly realized that he could plunge a dagger into Hamilton's heart and nobody would know. Jefferson smiled bitterly, it would be a bold, even reckless move and it would end this farce immediately.

Then Jefferson felt oddly giddy as he thought of using his bare hands to choke the life from his meddlesome adversary. Hamilton's eyes would bulge wide as he struggled, until he succumbed to death's cold embrace. Regardless of the enjoyment murdering Hamilton would bring, such activities were beneath the dignity of a gentleman. There were better ways to handle these things.

Jefferson had men to take care of such matters. Usually with good result, but not always. Most recently, his hired assassin Mr. Rogue had failed to eliminate Hamilton. Jefferson scowled, if that incompetent fool Rogue had succeeded, Jefferson would not be here restraining himself from a nearly ideal opportunity to kill this meddling, moron Hamilton.

The carriage jostled abruptly over a rough patch of road and Hamilton awoke. He sat up and noticed Jefferson's intense stare. "What is it?" he asked Jefferson.

"We have reached your adopted city and I was about to wake you," Jefferson lied.

Hamilton craned his neck out of the open window to get his bearings. "Are you going to find lodging?" he asked.

Jefferson already regretted not strangling this fool when he had the chance. "No," he said, "we are going to meet Lafayette. Brute will find a suitable hotel, see to the baggage and horses, then return for us later."

Hamilton considered this and asked, "Where are we meeting Lafayette?"

"The messenger I sent ahead carried instructions for Lafayette to meet us at the Empire Pub. If everything has gone as expected, the Frenchman will be waiting when we arrive."

Hamilton was forced to admit that Jefferson had planned this rendezvous very well. Jefferson had no doubt learned to be cautious with planning and details to preserve his aristocratic public image. To the public, Jefferson was an intellectual and a gentleman planter; the heroic statesman who penned the Declaration of Independence. It was an image that Jefferson cherished and cultivated. Strategizing to protect that façade must be second nature to the man, Hamilton thought.

A brief time later, the carriage rattled to a stop on the street before the Empire Pub. Mr. Brute climbed down from the driver's seat, opened the carriage door, and placed a stepping stool beneath the opening. Hamilton and Jefferson dismounted and stretched their travel wary legs. Hamilton surveyed their destination. The Empire Pub looked tired and seedy, not an establishment likely visited by the genteel citizens of New York. No doubt, this was why Jefferson had chosen this location.

Suddenly the pub door burst open and the young French hero, Marquis de Lafayette rushed forward to greet them, his arms open wide. A broad mile beamed from his face, "My two dear friends, I am so happy to see you!" he said loudly. He embraced Jefferson and kissed both cheeks and greeted Hamilton in the same manner. He then shook hands all around.

When Lafayette's enthusiasm had subsided, he stood between his two friends with an arm around each of their shoulders. But, rather than lead the way inside the pub, Lafayette guided Hamilton and Jefferson back toward the waiting carriage. "Come my friends, come," he said with barely contained excitement," we have much to discuss."

Jefferson looked nervously in both directions on the street, "Yes, let's get inside then."

"No, no, no," Lafayette said good naturedly, "you must be kidding me Jefferson, this place is…how you say…a place of pig swill."

"You mean a hog's trough?" Hamilton asked and gave Jefferson a wry smile, "Why on earth would you choose such a disgusting place for a meeting between gentlemen, Mr. Jefferson?"

Jefferson seethed quietly.

Lafayette did not seem to notice the tension between his two companions, "Yes, Alexander, exactly. We are officers and gentlemen of the world. This stable is not fit to host our business. The food, the wine, everything is terrible. Thomas, we will take your carriage to a much finer place I know. A place more suited for us."

Jefferson protested in his most diplomatic tone to Lafayette, "But dear my friend, we are already here and the LaPoofe docks tonight. Time is short, and we have much to discuss."

Lafayette smiled, "Do not be alarmed Thomas, your messenger informed me of your business and we will take care of everything. But first, I will take you to the finest French wine and most beautiful French girls in the city. We will dine and drink and then we will resolve this matter of your cargo. Surely, a man such as you cannot resist the best of France that may be found in America."

Jefferson saw that his protests were in vain and was now ready to follow Lafayette, "You are most persuasive, my old friend."

Lafayette's tone turned serious, "You should know, the LaPoofe docked last night. But your friend, the attorney Mr. Aaron Burr has placed a legal restraint on her cargo. Nothing aboard her can be touched until this matter is addressed."

Jefferson's eyes narrowed, and his voice was quiet fury, "Hamilton, contact your nitwit partner and have this matter resolved immediately."

Hamilton was pleased to see Jefferson fuming, "I just learned of this with you," he replied, "Of course, I will discuss this matter with Mr. Burr at the earliest opportunity."

Jefferson advanced threateningly toward Hamilton, but Lafayette restrained him, "Gentlemen please, first we dine and then we discuss business." He opened the carriage door for Hamilton and Jefferson, "Come, get in, I will instruct your driver," he said eagerly.

At their next stop, the three companions were seated in a private dining room. Lafayette had not exaggerated, the food and wine were superb, the best Jefferson had tasted since Paris. Lafayette's boyish excitement at seeing his old friends again helped to lessen the tension between Hamilton and Jefferson. They talk, ate, laughed and flirted with the beautiful French girls who served them.

Hamilton was particularly smitten by a dark-haired server named Marie. Her eyes drew him in and more than once Lafayette playfully kicked Hamilton under the table to regain his attention. Each time Lafayette laughed at Hamilton's wandering eye, "We have business tonight, Hamilton, no time for falling in love."

When the meal finished, Lafayette was left in quiet conversation with Jefferson. Across the room, Hamilton shared a small candlelit table with Maria. Another girl came in and spoke softly in French to Lafayette who looked puzzled, but replied and then called to Hamilton, "Alexander, there is a boy here asking for you."

Hamilton was focused on Maria and paid no attention until a ragged, dirty, street urchin entered and marched straight to him. The boy held out an envelope with Burr's seal, "For you, sir." Hamilton accepted the envelope and the boy extended his open hand, waiting.

Hamilton scowled, and dug a coin from his pocket for the boy. These brats were useful, but their greed could be annoying. The boy snatched the coin from Hamilton's hand, and bolted from the room.

Hamilton open Burr's note and read, "Welcome back to New York. The LaPoofe may be unloaded at your discretion. Consider it an oyster for you to crack and discover its hidden pearl. Trust no one."

A suspicious Jefferson watched closely, "Well, is it from Burr?" he demanded briskly.

Hamilton ignored the question and held the note over the candle. The flame quickly consumed the paper and slowly Hamilton said, "It was."

Jefferson was impatient, "What the devil did it say?"

"Tomorrow we dine on oysters," Hamilton said absently and turned his attention back to Marie and his other appetites.


	8. Chapter 8

Alexander Hamilton and the Smuggler's Plot

 **8 – Jefferson's Surprise**

A grey, gloomy sky hung over New York harbor and the small crowd gathered aboard the cargo ship LaPoofe. Hamilton was tense, but eager to see this drama unfold. Jefferson was about to be caught smuggling French goods into New York. The scandal would be delicious, and Jefferson's name would be eternally tarnished. But, first the legalities must be satisfied.

The ship's captain examined Hamilton's legal documents and the shipping agent, Mr. Post, presented the list of Jefferson's cargo. These documents were matched, and the proper crates hoisted from the ship's hold. Hamilton watched the process closely.

As the crates were piled on the dock, Jefferson's workers swarmed over them. Each wooden box was pried open and its contents inspected by the harbor authorities. Jefferson watched closely to ensure that none of his possessions had been damaged during their long voyage.

Hamilton restlessly paced among the workers and recognized several patrons of the Blue Ball Tavern. However, the rat-like man Scabby was not among them. Hamilton guessed Scabby was likely recovering from a night of drinking and was unable to work today.

The contents of Jefferson's crates were unremarkable. There were boxes of French books and wine casks of a rather common variety Hamilton noted. Another held clothing and an assortment of smaller items. Regardless of the contents, everything was accounted for on the shipping documents. Hamilton was frustrated to admit that everything was as it should be.

Jefferson was clearly satisfied and in a smug tone asked, "What say you now, Hamilton?"

Hamilton hid his disappointment and chose his words carefully, "Everything appears to be in order." He was certain Jefferson was involved in something illegal here. But, everything was perfectly legal and correct. Jefferson showed no concern for the inspections, the documentation or any other aspect of this process. The resealed crates were loaded into a horse drawn wagon for transport to Monticello.

"I trust this puts an end to your fanciful claims of smuggling and secret cargos," Jefferson said quietly to Hamilton. Only Hamilton could hear the barely contained fury in Jefferson's voice.

Hamilton called to Lafayette, "Please check with the ship's cargo master to ensure that this is everything belonging to Mr. Jefferson. We would not want to overlook something."

"Oui"

A few minutes later Lafayette returned and said, "That is everything, my friend."

Jefferson climbed aboard his carriage and called Hamilton to the window, "I won't forget this insult, Hamilton. You will regret publicly questioning my integrity," Jefferson hissed angrily.

Hamilton returned Jefferson's icy stare and said nothing.

Jefferson continued, "Inform your puppet master Burr, that I will not forget his part in this sorry episode."

Before Hamilton could reply, Jefferson signaled the driver and the carriage pulled away. The wagon load of cargo followed behind. The procession disappeared from sight and Hamilton's heart sank. The master schemer had outsmarted him.

Lafayette read his friend's downcast mood and placed a hand on Hamilton's shoulder, "What now my friend?"

"We get a cab and then get a drink, I'm buying," Hamilton said glumly.

Later that day, Burr was almost jovial when Hamilton entered the office and fell into a chair. Hamilton realized he needed a good night's sleep. Burr took the other chair, "Has Gentleman Tom collected his trinkets and returned to his mansion?"

Hamilton nodded slowly.

"You found nothing on the ship?"

Hamilton slowly shook his head.

Burr slapped Hamilton's knee, "Don't take too hard, Alex. You will get another chance for your pound of aristocratic flesh."

Hamilton stared silently at the floor, he was not yet ready to think about next time. The sting of this humbling would take some time to put behind him. Burr was up, shuffling around the office, then he turned and held out a plate to Hamilton.

"I am not hungry," Hamilton said glumly.

"I really think you should give my caviar a chance, it is quite exquisite. Unlike any you've had before."

Something in Burr's tone cut through the dark cloud surrounding Hamilton. He accepted the small silver plate holding a dab of caviar and a silver spoon. Burr watched closely as Hamilton tried the caviar, the taste was incredible! Then he noticed the French inscriptions on the plate and spoon.

"Where did you get this?" Hamilton demanded.

Burr sat down behind his desk and smiled knowingly, "That is unimportant. I will confess the caviar and silver service came from the French royal court. And if you care for a drink, I have come into possession of several casks of an extremely rare vintage from His Majesty's royal wine cellar."

Hamilton was in shock, "Burr, you must tell me."

Burr laughed and shook his head, "No Alex, the less you know, the better for you." Burr tossed a small leather pouch across the desk. The bag landed heavily at Hamilton's feet.

Hamilton loosened the drawstring securing the top of the pouch and peered inside, the bag was nearly full of French gold coins, "Now what is this?" he asked.

"What I promised," Burr said, "some of Gentleman Tom's gold for your pocket.'

Hamilton poured out a handful of the coins, "There are several thousand dollars here."

Burr was distracted by paperwork on his desk, "Really?" he asked absently, "I never counted it."

Suddenly, Hamilton realized that Burr had played a larger role in this episode than he had first realized. "This is Jefferson's smuggled cargo," he said feeling like a blind man who had suddenly gained his sight.

Burr sat back and sternly examined Hamilton, "You're a mess Alexander. Go home, get some sleep, let your wife cook for you and spend some time with your children." Burr was clearly not going to explain anything.

"What of this?" Hamilton asked, and held up the sack of gold coins.

Burr sighed, "Mr. Hamilton, you have just testified that there was no smuggled cargo aboard that ship. The rumor was false. I apologize, but you have been well compensated for your investigation in this matter."

"What if Jefferson comes looking for his gold, caviar, and the rest?"

Burr ignored the question, "Go home Alexander," Burr said with exaggerated impatience, "I will see you the day after tomorrow, or the day after that would be better, yet."

Hamilton stood, and did not know what to say.

Burr was again engrossed by the paperwork covering his desk. Without looking up he said, "Go," and motioned toward the door, "This matter is concluded."


	9. Chapter 9

Alexander Hamilton and the Smuggler's Plot

 **9 - A Distasteful Dinner**

The flame of a single lantern created a circle of light in the inky blackness of the empty barn. Within this flickering circle, a man sat tied to a sturdy wooden chair. He worked his wrists and ankles against the ropes binding him, but it was no use. A burlap sack covered the man's head and he was nearly in a panic. He had been assaulted in a dark street outside a bar, knocked unconscious and awoke here.

In the surrounding darkness a door opened, and heavy boots approached across the wooden floor. The bag was roughly jerked from his head and the man blinked in the sudden bright light of the lantern.

Scabby looked up at the large man who hovered threateningly over him, "What's going on here Brute? Cut me loose," Scabby demanded. He was scared but tried to sound angry. He recognized this barn and a cold wave of fear swept over him.

Brute did not move or speak.

In the dark recesses of the barn, a door creaked slowly open and then closed. Scabby squinted into the blackness which surrounded him but, could see nothing. He was terrified and needed a drink.

A voice from the darkness asked, "Where are the crates you received from the French ship?"

Scabby shook his head, "I don't what you mean."

Brute stepped up and punched Scabby squarely in the face. Scabby's head spun violently to the side and he tasted blood.

"You will tell me," the voice from the darkness said.

Scabby spit blood onto the wooden floor and shook his head, "You've made a mistake."

Brute swung again, and the force of the blow snapped Scabby's head back. The chair and its captive tipped backwards and Scabby's head thudded against the floor. Brute patiently righted the chair with Scabby still securely bound to it.

Scabby's head hung down. He was not tough or courageous and he was nearly unconscious from this abuse. He began to whimper.

Brute suddenly dumped a bucket of cold water over Scabby and slapped his cheeks several times to revive him.

"You are a weak and stupid man," the Voice roared from all around him, "tell me what I want to know, and you will be released."

Scabby said nothing, his wide fearful eyes searched the darkness around him.

The Voice continued, "Your work crew received some cargo on the beach two days before the ship reached New York. The crates disappeared after that. Did you steal them?"

Scabby's head hung down, "No."

"Did you sell them?"

"No," Scabby said louder.

"Then where are they?" the voice demanded angrily.

"We hid them all under the floor of this barn, just like we were supposed to," Scabby said harshly and spit out another mouthful of blood, "That's the last I saw of it."

"That's the last anyone saw of it," the Voice replied darkly, "Brute, keep working on him until he talks, or he is dead."

Brute looked into the darkness behind Scabby and nodded. Scabby began screaming, "No, wait, I can help you. There were kids playing around the barn that night. We chased them away, but they kept coming back. We need to find them, they may know something. I saw their faces, I can find them!" Scabby's pleas had the panicked tone of a condemned man begging for his last chance at life.

The only reply was the sound of boots walking away in the darkness and a door that squeaked open and then closed. Outside the barn, Scabby's hoarse screams echoed in the night, but nobody was there to hear them.

Thomas Jefferson did not like Tucker Robinson, a fellow plantation owner who posed as a gentleman seeking a place in Virginia society. But, Jefferson knew Robinson came from trash people who made their fortune exploiting opportunities during the late Revolution.

In spite of this, Jefferson accepted Robinson's dinner invitation on the occasion of Robinson's daughter's engagement. Jefferson was disgusted by the round and pale, horse faced, girl during the social hour. Still, he congratulated her and her father on the upcoming wedding, then moved to a far corner of the room with an excellent glass of wine. He was surprised a pig like Robinson would have such refined taste.

Now, Tucker Robinson sat at the head of the dinner table while his guests lined the sides. So far, Jefferson found the meal acceptable and nothing more, Robinson would need a better cook if he hoped to advance in Virginia's aristocracy. Jefferson raised a spoon of caviar to his mouth and froze in his seat, his mouth full of the delicacy. His eyes grew wide.

The other guests at the long dining table continued their mindless chatter. They had no idea. The fat toad of a man seated across from Jefferson commented, "Tucker, this caviar is divine. I've never tasted better. You must tell me where I can find it."

Jefferson's wide eyes darted to the head of the table. Robinson's smile beamed, his superior food would be the talk of the county tomorrow.

A woman down the table moaned around a mouthful of caviar, "Oh, indeed Tucker, do tell."

Jefferson rolled the caviar in his mouth, his superior palette had instantly recognized it, then his eyes fixed on the outstanding glass of wine he had enjoyed this evening. The wine too! His eyes fixed on Robinson who casually lowered his forkful of roasted pheasant, "I confess, you have me at a disadvantage. I do not recall the supplier's name."

Jefferson suddenly envisioned Robinson tied to a chair in an abandoned country barn.

Robinson rubbed his fat chin and looked to Jefferson like an ape, "I will enquire of my kitchen staff, but all I can tell you is that it was imported from France I believe, in an extremely limited quantity," he paused, then added, "I believe the supplier was in New York."

Jefferson's mouth filled bile.

"I paid a fortune for this small amount," Robinson continued, "but nothing is too good for my guests." Polite laughter and quiet applause erupted from around the table.

Jefferson suddenly gagged over his plate. The room was instantly silent as everyone focused on him. Jefferson slid back from the table, his hand covering his mouth, "Please excuse me," he murmured and hurried from the room. He needed fresh air.

In the dark night outside the mansion, he fled to the refuge of shadows beneath some trees that stood away from the house. He bent over, coughed and spat out the mouthful of caviar. He coughed and spat again and gasped for breath. Then he slowly straightened and stood, still breathing heavily.

Slowly, his hands balled into tight fists and his entire body quivered with rage. He turned a furious face upward. "You will die, Hamilton," he bellowed, "you will die screaming, I swear it!"

The stars in the night sky did not answer.

 **THE END**


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